GODEGISIL RAISED BOTH arms high, shaking his shield and spear in the air.
‘I challenge you, Aetius,’ Godegisil shouted. ‘Fight me man to man. We will settle this by single combat. The outcome of the battle can be sorted by just us two. No one else will have to fight or die.’
The Roman commander was quite a distance away, but it was clear that he saw and heard the challenge. Aetius stopped his horse and wheeled it around in the direction of Godegisil. Hagan saw him shake his head before turning his horse and galloping on down the Roman line.
The Burgundars jeered.
‘Coward,’ one of the lads near Hagan said and spat.
Then there was movement in the Roman shield wall. It parted and a tall legionary pushed his way out in front of the Roman line. He waved his heavy spear in the air and stomped forward across the meadow towards Godegisil.
‘I’ll wager that’s an Armenian,’ Childeric said. ‘They’re hot-headed and their discipline leaves a lot to be desired. My old centurion would have beaten him senseless with his vine stick for that. “No individual actions”, he used to say.’
Hagan felt a surge of apprehension. His father was about to risk his life and his honour, right there in front of the whole army and with the rest of the Burgundar folk watching. The Armenian looked like a giant. Then again, he had seen Godegisil fight many single combats and he had never lost, so Hagan’s anxiety was mixed with a thrill of pride that it was his father who was brave enough to be the one to start the battle.
The sourness gripped his heart again. It was the man everyone thought was his father. It was as if the words Godegisil had spoken the night before had placed a worm in his heart that was now gnawing at the roots of everything that pleased him or gave him happiness.
The two warriors advanced towards each other, their helmets gleaming in the morning sun. Their armour rattled and clinked with every determined step. They met in the middle and both men stopped, facing each other a little way apart.
Godegisil touched his helmet with the tip of his spear then fell to a defensive crouch, shield held before him in the fist of his extended left arm and spear in his right, levelled and ready. His Roman opponent did the same, though he kept his shield closer to his chest. A great tumult arose from both armies as each side cheered on their own champion.
The Roman hurled his spear at Godegisil. A collective gasp arose from the watching Burgundars. The attack was sudden, delivered with fearsome force and at such close range there was barely an instant for their hero to react.
With surprising dexterity for a man his size, Godegisil dove to his right and rolled through a somersault, tumbling over his right shoulder. The Roman’s spear shot past, just missing him as he rose back to his feet and launched his own spear, all in one fluid movement.
The Roman, surprise written all over his face, threw himself backwards at the waist and leaned to his left. Godegisil’s spear flew past not much more than a hand’s breadth from the man’s nose.
Both armies cheered. Hagan knew this was not just a contest between champions with the honour of both sides at stakes. The skill displayed by the heroes was an impressive spectacle. For most watching – those for whom one of the combatants was not their own father – this was superb entertainment.
Godegisil ripped his wide-bladed sword from its sheath and moved to attack. The Roman saw him coming. Realising he did not have time to draw his own sword, he plucked a dart from behind his shield and threw it at Godegisil. The Burgundar ducked behind his shield and the dart thudded into the painted linden wood.
In the momentary respite the Roman jumped backwards, creating space between him and Godegisil and pulled his sword – a Roman spatha – from its scabbard. The two warriors began to circle each other, shields raised and swords ready, each man stalking the other with careful, deliberate steps like two stags confronting each other at rutting season.
The Roman lunged. He launched himself forward, his spatha flashing in the sun. Godegisil parried with his own sword. The clang of metal on metal rang across the meadow. Godegisil smashed his shield into the Roman’s and shoved with his left shoulder, sending his opponent stumbling backwards.
There followed an exchange of blows, each warrior battering the other’s shield with a welter of blows that thundered across the meadow. Hagan watched, enraptured, barely able to breathe. The effort his father and the Roman were putting in must be exhausting. It would not be sustainable for long.
Godegisil stepped towards his opponent, slashing at him with an overhead swipe aimed at dividing the other’s head in two. The Roman raised his shield to block the blow. As his blade hit the shield, Godegisil lashed out with his foot. His boot smashed into the Roman’s knee. The man shouted what was probably a curse in his own tongue. He sidestepped away but now moved with a noticeable limp.
Despite this, the Roman resumed the attack. With a great shout he came forwards, swinging his sword in a side swipe meant to take Godegisil’s head from his shoulders. The Burgundar champion ducked and the blade sliced air instead. Godegisil shifted his boot and made as if to kick the Roman’s leg again. The Roman, moving by instinct rather than forethought, dropped his shield to protect his injured knee. As soon as he did so Godegisil struck, stabbing his sword directly over the top of the Roman’s shield. The blade slid over the metal rim band and into the Roman’s screaming mouth. His eyes bulged as the tip of the sword went through the roof of his mouth and crunched into the skull behind. A torrent of blood washed over Godegisil’s blade and down the front of the Roman’s mail shirt. His legs went limp, as if the bones in them had turned to water. The big warrior crashed to the ground like a scarecrow cut from the post that supports it. He hit the ground in a clatter of armour, dropping his sword and shield on the way.
A collective groan rose from the ranks of the Roman army. At the same time another great shout came from the Burgundars; a cry both of triumph and bloodthirsty glee at the death of one of their enemies. The first of many, they hoped.
Hagan felt relief wash over him that his father had survived. As well as this he felt his chest swell with pride that his father had been the first one to spill Roman blood. It was Godegisil who had displayed such prowess and courage before both the enemy and – more important – the watching Burgundar folk.
He felt some of the darkness drain from his heart. So what if Godegisil was not his real father? As far as everyone else was concerned he was. As well as that the sight of Godegisil’s deeds strengthened his own resolve. Hagan felt his previous anxiety drain from him. A fierce determination glowed in his heart that if he got the chance today, he would be just as brave as the man he called father. He would kill his enemies and protect his kin folk.
Godegisil stood in the midst of the battlefield, his bloody sword raised in the air, screaming defiance at the ranks of Romans before him.
Emboldened by the initial victory, other heroes and lords of the Burgundars began coming forward, taunting the Romans and shouting challenges for more single combats.
Goaded by the provocation, several Romans began to move forwards from their shield wall to go out to meet the Burgundars in the middle of the meadow.
With the sound of beating hooves, the Roman general, Aetius, came galloping along the front of the Roman line. Clearly agitated, he waved his drawn sword and shouted at the Romans who had broken ranks. Hagan could not hear his words due to the tumult around him but it became clear he was ordering his soldiers to get back in line. Those Romans who had come forwards – some with shrugs to show their reluctance, some scurrying like scolded children – returned behind the line of their comrades’ shields to the further jeers of the Burgundar champions and the watching war horde behind them.
Those around Hagan jumped up and down with delight. The Burgundars had won the first confrontation. If this was an omen for how the battle would go then today they would win a great victory.
‘This will be a great day for our folk,’ Gunderic said. ‘We will defeat Rome in a glorious victory. Did you see the Swan Maidens?’
Hagan nodded. He bit his lip, longing to say more, to reveal he knew one of the most closely guarded secrets of their tribe. He knew something even the prince did not. It was especially hard not to tell him about Gunhild. The three of them had been firm friends since they had been little children.
‘Did you see Gunhild?’ Gunderic said.
Hagan looked around. There was a mischievous smile on the bottom half of Gunderic’s face, visible beneath his helmet visor.
‘You know?’ Hagan burst out with a frustrated gasp. Yet again the king’s son had one over him. ‘How?’
Gunderic just shook his head.
‘She is my sister, Hagan,’ he said. ‘There is much you don’t know about her.’
Hagan turned his attention back to the battlefield, recalling the secret path Gunhild had led him through in the forest. Did Gunderic know about this mysterious gold too?
Once all the unruly Romans had returned to their ranks Aetius wheeled his horse around and took another look at the Burgundar army. He was too far away for Hagan to make out the expression on his face but he seemed to be surveying what he no doubt regarded as a barbarian horde, perhaps reassessing their threat.
Hagan wondered if perhaps his father’s deal would be enough and the Romans would pack up and leave the field there and then.
It was a futile hope.
Aetius raised a whistle to his lips and blew several short blasts on it, the sharp sounds audible above the din of voices. The Roman buccinators joined in, making ever louder blasts on their long, curved brass horns. At the sound the shouts of the Burgundars died away to silent anticipation.
‘They’re signalling something,’ Childeric said. ‘This could be the advance. Ready yourself, lads.’
Hagan took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to quieten the worms of fear which had begun to writhe in his belly again.
Then came the thunder.